David Platt is English football's unexploited asset

There is more to David Platt than being Roberto Mancini's go-to guy and scoring a wonder goal against Belgium

David Platt's volley against Belgium in 1990 was a moment of brilliance to trump anything any modern England midfielder has produced at a World Cup. Photograph: David Cannon/Allsport David, Cannon/Allsport

Various theories have been put forward to explain Manchester City's recent gear shift, the transformation from a rather glum but tectonically irresistible force into the joyful, barrelling talent juggernaut of the past few weeks. Some have pointed to the galvanising effect of Mario Balotelli's loopy charisma, his new status as prankster man-child genius. Others have noted sagely the fine form of David Silva and his terrible, agonising left foot, the kind of foot that means even after Silva has passed the ball it still seems to have a toe or two still attached, guiding the ball like a rudder, inflicting a malevolent intelligence on its trajectory.

Little mention has been made of another figure within the City cavalcade. This seems odd given his increasing touchline prominence, the way those unmistakable features have hung like a sallow-hued moon in the background of City's many recent notable goal-leaps and touchline bundles. English football has a great gift for wilful amnesia and voluntary blind spots, but this can only be put off for so long and the time has come. We need to talk about David Platt.

Yes: Platt! From a distance it is hard to assess exactly what he does at City. Billed as an assistant coach, he seemed content in early season to frown helpfully on the fringes, sometimes leaning across to mutter a single sage observation into the fronds of Roberto Mancini's tumbling neck-hair. Now though he seems to have displaced Brian Kidd as chief managerial chaperone and high-five go-to guy. Conjoined on the touchline Mancini and Platt look flushed, bright‑eyed, loved-up, like a triumphantly reconfigured man-band in well-groomed middle-age. This is obviously good news for Platt fans. Although that may not be saying very much, mainly because I think I may be pretty much the only one.

In English football Platt remains an anomaly of unpopularity. For all his 1990s success in Serie A he has none of the usual left-field compensations of the English exile, no cult following, no air of outsider cool. There are some genuine gripes, mainly the disastrous and destructive spell as manager of Nottingham Forest. But ambient Platt-hate goes beyond anything so concrete. While writing this article I conducted a brief internet survey into its possible sources, the answers to which focused almost entirely on his appearance, with Platt described as "resembling an almond" and (many times) as having an upsettingly fat head (although this is inaccurate as his head just looks a little inflated and distended, like a balloon filled with water, giving him from a distance the look of a man whose head is struggling to emerge from inside a mask of another head).

The only coherent objections were a perceived aloofness and a sense of being held culpable for the mediocrity of those around him in the dark shadow of Graham Taylor-era England. This is a great shame for those who witnessed the dawning of the original Age of Platt – a period between 1991 and 1994 when for England supporters he represented all hope, all joy – and who have since seen his name all but airbrushed from history. No discussion of the best England midfielders of modern times will even mention Platt, yet he flourished overseas, has an England goal record (27 in 62) on a par with Alan Shearer and also "did it" in the late stages of a World Cup.

Part of the problem perhaps lies in Platt's strangely unengaging style of play: an energetic all-rounder, he still gave the impression of having learned to play football from a 1970s textbook. With England Platt's game was based around his "trademark late runs", a form of highly specialised haring about the place, and a version of playing that tends for long periods not to involve the ball at all. Instead Platt's success dovetailed with Taylor's vision of a high-pressure football-by-numbers, whereby the galloping, knees-high Platt would "ghost" into areas not exactly in – but certainly near – the mixer, sniffing out knockdown-trajectory, calculating flick‑back-angle and developing a paranormal sense of bobble-probability.

Perhaps this is why his more refined gifts are disregarded. That last-minute volleyed goal against Belgium was a moment of cold-blooded technical brilliance to trump anything any modern England midfielder has produced at a World Cup. Platt described it as "one of life's rare, perfect moments" and even the hardest heart, its ventricles clogged with Platt-hate, must soften at these words.

Despite which his enduring image remains, not respected elder statesman or urbane overachiever; but almond face, fat-head, outsider. Hopefully this will change. For English football Platt is essentially an unexploited asset. There is a great fund of assimilated expertise waiting to be unpacked within that groaning cranium, the varied experiences of a man who has played with Ruud Gullit and Roberto Baggio and been managed by Dario Gradi, Giovanni Trapattoni, Bobby Robson and Arsène Wenger.

There is still some residual talk about foreigners and their tendency to come over here and take our football jobs by appearing more competent and assured than our home-reared isolationists. But perhaps in the beautiful friendship between Mancini and his de facto No2 (founded in his courtship of Platt before they became team-mates at Sampdoria) there is a sense of something else, of an overseas manager refunnelling something valuable back into English football; and bringing a well-travelled pragmatist back in from the cold.